


You've Got To Be Joking

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mirkwood, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, Dwalin would blame the Halfling. Him and his blasted interest in gardening. It was Bilbo's fascination with the strange plant-life in Mirkwood that caused all the trouble that followed and the rest of them had only been carried along for the ride.</p><p>Cliche: Sex Pollen</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got To Be Joking

**Author's Note:**

> Never let it be said I back away from a challenge. The cliche was sex pollen. This did not quite turn out how I meant. *G*

* * *

Later, Dwalin would blame the Halfling. Him and his blasted interest in gardening. It was Bilbo's fascination with the strange plant-life in Mirkwood that caused all the trouble that followed and the rest of them had only been carried along for the ride.

It had begun the moment they entered the forest, his curious eyes taking in it all and though Bilbo never precisely slowed them down, neither did he ever take the lead, pausing to glance at this plant or that flower until Dwalin was ready to swat the little Hobbit like he might an annoying child. Only Thorin's tolerance of the Halfling's oddities held his hand and instead, Dwalin brushed past him as yet again as Bilbo hesitated, prodding a large, reddish pod curiously. 

"Careful with that," Bofur teased, nudging Bilbo with an elbow as he peered over his shoulder at the strange pod. "Looks more like to eat you than the other way round."

"He'd hardly be a mouthful!" Nori called and the others laughed, carrying on walking. Only Oin paused, wondering at the laughter around him and turning to discover its cause. Even from the distance, Dwalin saw the alarm rise on his face, the old Dwarf stumbling back towards them.

"Don't touch it!" Oin shouted. Too late, for the pod swelled abruptly, letting out a short puff of glittering pollen that caught both Bilbo and Bofur full in the face. They folded to the ground without a sound, Bofur sprawling over Bilbo in the dirt and Dwalin caught him up, hauling him off the Halfling with a grunt.

Thorin was beside them in an instant, gathering Bilbo up and giving him a rough shake. Uselessly, for neither he nor Bofur stirred. "What happened?" Thorin demanded.

"What happened was Halfling curiosity struck in an accursed forest," Dwalin said curtly. Bofur was sprawled over his lap, his eyelashes glittering with whatever it was that pod had seen fit to dust them with and even from this distance he could see the same sparkling on Bilbo's. 

Oin knelt beside Dwalin, not touching, though his mouth pursed unhappily, "Ah, this is not good."

"What do you mean—" Dwalin began, only to swear in surprise as Bofur came awake with a snorting huff, blinking his dusty lashes as he looked up at Dwalin. His mouth worked, slowly, silently, and then he lunged forward, pressing his mouth to Dwalin's with fierce determination. With an effort, Dwalin shoved him back, wrapping his arms around Bofur to still him as the Dwarf fought him violently, struggling to free his hands from Dwalin's grip.

From Thorin's startled curse Bilbo had done much the same and in a bare moment, both he and Thorin were engaged in a ridiculous battle to keep two lustful members of their company at bay.

"Oh, please!" Bilbo begged aloud, struggling against Thorin's restraining hands. "I want you inside me, please, take me! I want…I…I…I want you to have me on my knees, I want you to--" He cut off as Thorin clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wild above it. 

"You've heard of this...this sort of abomination?" Thorin demanded loudly at Oin, trying to hold the writhing Hobbit away from him. Bilbo only squirmed determinedly, his cries muffled as he tried to pull free of Thorin's grip. Dwalin was faring no better, both arms locked around Bofur as the Dwarf begged, though he had no hand free to stifle the stream of obscenities pouring free from him.

"Aye, I have," Oin eyed the plant, poking it from a distance with a long stick. "I've read of this type of thing in old journals, notes from past travels."

"Then tell us what to do with them," Dwalin demanded, grunting as Bofur tried to wriggled back into his lap.

"You'll have to tup them," Oin said bluntly, rummaging through his pack. He didn't seem to notice the flummoxed expressions that fell over Dwalin and Thorin's faces as he drew out a jar of salve. "You'll have to share that, I only have the one. Have a care with the Hobbit, he's a small one." He gave Bofur a speculative look. "Have a care with him as well, Dwalin, he's not a knot in a barrel."

"Tup them?" Dwalin sputtered, "I'm not about to…stop that!" he roared as Bofur took advantage of his slackening grip and grabbed up his hand, sucking his fingers voraciously. Dwalin snatched his hand back, cuffing Bofur firmly back down as he whined and begged. 

"Please!" Bofur gasped out, and already rivulets of sweat were running down from beneath his hat. 

Bilbo echoed his cry, damp curls clinging to his forehead as he pleaded, "Have me, you must, I need you!"

Oin offered them a shrug. "Then they'll go on like that through the night until their hearts give out." He raised a brow as Thorin and Dwalin's expressions changed to ones of horror. "Never took you for the sort who'd let someone die over a little bared flesh, Dwalin."

"You're sure of this," Thorin asked, hushed. His knuckles were white with the effort of restraining the little Hobbit, who was struggling with real intent, bruises already rising on his wrists where Thorin held him. 

"As sure as I can be without waiting till morn," Oin assured him. He clapped Dwalin on the shoulder, ignoring his glower. "The rest of us will make camp over the way there. Oh, here," he took a moment to gather a few blankets and spread them on the ground, seemingly oblivious to the wretched looks his companions gave him. "There we are then! If they worsen, give a shout and I'll come check on them."

And with a disturbingly cheery wave, he made his way back to the others, guiding them off, and though Balin cast a concerned look back at them, he went along. Until Thorin and Dwalin were alone in the clearing with their wriggling bundles, the both of them now reduced to incoherent cries. 

They stood for a moment, wordless, neither willing to look at the other, until Dwalin cleared his throat gruffly. "Do you want to…" he coughed, gesturing at the blankets as he ground out, "Go first?"

Thorin said nothing, his mouth tight. In his arms, Bilbo twisted, ducking his head in an effort to bite at Thorin's hands until he was forced to shift his grip, "No, I do not," Thorin said shortly.

"Right, then." Dwalin said. Neither of them moved. "If they are both so eager, I don't see why they can't have at each other."

Thorin winced as Bilbo yowled, shrill and desperate, "Much as that would solve the problem, they don't seem interested in each other."

"They aren't close to each other," Dwalin argued. "The Halfling saw you first and Bofur, me. They might only need a good shove."

Whatever reply Thorin might have had was lost for the moment as Bilbo managed to slip his grip, twisting in his arms and grabbing at Thorin. Bemused, Dwalin watched the two of them grapple, Thorin increasingly desperate as he tried to struggle away, only to be trapped by two small, surprisingly strong fists clinging to his hair. He managed to wrest free, losing only a few strands and Bilbo screamed his rage as he was once again held away. 

"Are you truly suggesting we should simply shove them at each other and hope for the best?" Thorin demanded.

His resounding yes was cut off as his feet were abruptly swept from beneath him. Bofur, it seemed, had been biding his time and he was nearly as quick as the Halfling, darting from Dwalin's hands as he neatly straddled him and now Dwalin was the one pinned. Bofur was kneeling on his chest, eyes blazing down at Dwalin and his hair clung in damp tufts to his face, his hat lost. 

"I can hear you," Bofur hissed, furiously, "And all I want is for you to stuff me full of that fat cock of yours." He took a shuddering breath, hands shaking where they circled Dwalin's wrists. "So either take me or leave me to die, but I won't be hearing your blather any longer!"

Beneath that desperation, Dwalin thought there was a thread of fear, Bofur biting his lower lip until a trickle of blood ran free. Already his legs were sliding down until he was straddling Dwalin rather than atop him and through his trousers, Dwalin could feel the hard length of him. 

Ah, he couldn't stand that, not from Bofur, his cheer and quiet bravery lost to despair. With a rough twist, he pulled his hands free and caught up Bofur's face, drawing him down until Dwalin could press their mouths together, licking away that crooked line of blood. Bofur moaned, their teeth clacking as he shoved Dwalin back, his rough fingers scrabbling at Dwalin's belt, struggling with buckles and straps. 

"Please!" he begged, nearly sobbing as he fought with the wide leather belt, "Please, I need you to fuck me, I need—"

"Easy," Dwalin tried, batting his hands aside to fumble with it himself. A low cry came from next to them and Dwalin glanced over involuntarily, catching sight of the Halfling spread out beneath Thorin. Who seemed to be having no better luck at soothing his partner, kneeling between Bilbo's spread knees as he petted and tried to comfort him. For the briefest of moments, he and Thorin's eyes met and Dwalin did not mistake the wryness in his King's gaze. Of all situations for them to be mixed up in and Dwalin had to muffle a laugh against Bofur's mouth as he finally worked the buckle loose.

Bofur's hands were at the buttons beneath instantly and Dwalin mumbled a protest as he tore one loose, casting it aside as he yanked the plackets open. Beneath it, Dwalin was hard and there could hardly be shame in that, what with Bofur rubbing that backside of his over it and the increasingly noisy cries coming from the couple next to them. From the sound of it, Thorin and Bilbo were further along in things and Bofur did not seem content to wait much longer. He grabbed at the length of Dwalin's cock as though it were an axe handle and Dwalin snarled aloud, catching his wrist and stilling him. 

"Easy with that or you'll not be getting anything from it," Dwalin growled. He might not have bothered; Bofur seemed past being able to hear him, words lost in whimpers and pleading, hands fumbling over Dwalin and he bit nearly as much as he kissed, tangling their beards together. One too-hard bite drew blood and with a roar, Dwalin caught him up and rolled them, pushing Bofur to his knees. His trousers were yanked down to his thighs, exposing the hard curve of his arse and if Dwalin took a moment to run an appreciative hand over it, Bofur was in no condition to protest. 

A quick fumble brought the jar of salve to his hand, already opened, and Dwalin studiously did not watch Thorin and Bilbo coupling right before them, did not notice the hot flush of color, bright as apples, in the Hobbit's cheeks. Both sets of them. Thorin's hair fell over his face, hiding him from view but that was a sight Dwalin had seen before; though his strong hand circling a Halfling's cock was a bit of something new. 

Beneath him, Bofur was wriggling his softly furred arse, begging wordlessly, and Dwalin quickly slicked his fingers, pressing both within him simply to feel the hard stretch of it. "There we are," he crooned and Bofur's voice cracked as he shouted, clenching brutally tight around Dwalin's fingers before grudgingly loosening, taking the sharp press of his fingers. 

Bofur made choking sounds, struggling to spread his knees wider around the hindrance of his trousers. Dwalin followed his fingers with his thumb, rubbing the pink rim, watching it loosen around him and Bofur's gasps took in a higher pitch, hips pitching and flexing as he tried to force Dwalin into movement. Ah, and wasn't that a sight. He'd not expected Bofur of any of them to be slut-pretty and it might just be that accursed pollen but Dwalin watched raptly as he took a third finger, his hole stretching with stubborn eagerness. 

By the time he pulled them loose, Bofur's thighs were quivering and his shoulders shook, muffled sobs escaping him and Dwalin ran a soothing hand up beneath his shirt, skimming over soft skin through a layer of cooling sweat. 

"All right, then," he crooned, "You're doing well, you are. Pretty thing." He pressed the head of his cock against that loosened hole, a promise and a warning, and Bofur lurched back against it, sinking him in a bare inch before Dwalin grabbed his hips and stilled them. Beneath him, Bofur snarled, a shrill cry of mingled rage and desperation and Dwalin gave in, looping an arm beneath his hips and pressing in deep. For all his preparation, Bofur was tight, resisting the spear of his cock as he worked it inside. 

"Ah, ah, ah," Bofur wailed, each low cry echoing an inward thrust and Dwalin growled low in his throat, pulling him back into each. Still achingly, gorgeously tight, his hips twisting back into it and the slick clench of Bofur's arse was hot as a forge. It'd been years since he'd had such a coupling as this, and to have it now, kneeling on a thin blanket with the ground hard under his knees and Bofur was clawing at the ground, howling loud as warg as Dwalin lifted his hips and fucked into him, driving in with a brutal rhythm. 

"That's it, lad," Dwalin panted, "That's it, take it!" 

Bofur's braids were unraveling, his dark hair hanging in loose, sweaty hanks and Dwalin managed to pry a hand free of his hip and dragged it up to snatch a handful of it, yanking his head back until Bofur was forced to follow, moving clumsily to sit upright in Dwalin's lap. It slid him in deeper, wringing yet another ragged cry from Bofur and the change in angle made Dwalin moan, rolling his hips up to that sweet, tight heat. 

He found the line of Bofur's throat, dragging aside his hair to mouth at it, biting a mark in the smooth skin until Bofur whimpered hoarsely, his voice abandoning him and still, he moved along with each hard upward thrust, thighs straining wide over Dwalin's, and his hands were clutching Dwalin's forearms, nails digging crescent bruises into them to match the curves Dwalin's teeth left. 

"By Durin, you are good," Dwalin mumbled around the salty flesh between his teeth. "Tight. Hot. _Good_." He punctuated each word with a hard drive of his hips, felt it within as Bofur stiffened and spilled wet over both their thighs, his arse spiraling into a snug clench around him, almost too tight for him to move, and Dwalin shifted what little he could, holding him up until Bofur went lax. 

He shoved Bofur back to his knees, sending him face-first into the blanket as his arms sprawled loose and drove into him, seeking his own pleasure with a stutter-quick rhythm. It coiled in his belly, ready to be unleashed, and Dwalin snarled aloud, driving for it, and almost didn't feel the cup of Bofur's hand at his hip, weakly urging him on. 

The light behind his eyes boiled crimson, molten as heated iron, and Dwalin threw his head back and roared, jerking hard as he drove in one last time, burying his seed into Bofur. It still flowed in hot spurts as he pulled free, spilling that wetness over Bofur's arse and thighs, striping him with streaks of seed. 

Dwalin ran his fingers through it in a haze of possessive lust, rubbing it into his skin. Beneath him, Bofur shifted weakly, racked with shivers and Dwalin gathered him up instantly, dragging the corner of the blanket over them. It caught, resisting, and he felt as much as heard others shifting. 

His head snapped up, instantly recalling what he'd half-forgotten. That Thorin and Bilbo were still close, wrapped in a blanket of their own, and to Dwalin's eyes the Halfling was asleep, curled up against Thorin's chest with one small hand clutching the long braid that fell over Thorin's shoulder. His King held Bilbo with an odd care, his mouth tender against the Halfling's temple and there was no challenge in his gaze as it met Dwalin's, only rueful acceptance. 

Of course. Dwalin could not claim to be so blind as to not see how those two were around each other. Strange blasted plants or not, he'd been half-expecting such a thing for some time now. Though he could not resist raising a brow at Thorin and was met with defiance, Thorin pulling the blanket closer around Bilbo's bare shoulders. 

Bare? That must have been quite a show he'd missed and Dwalin was sorely disappointed at losing the chance. 

In his own arms Bofur still trembled and Dwalin frowned as he felt a drop of wetness against his wrist, another. He drew back and was dismayed to find Bofur struggling to bury his face into the crook of his own arm, hiding the wet streaks trailing down his cheeks. 

"Did I hurt you?" Dwalin demanded in a hushed whisper, cursing himself, Oin had warned him not to be rough and still he'd—

"I'll not walk proper for a week," Bofur said, dryly, "But no, you've not hurt me." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, uselessly, as more tears fell. "Just that blasted plant, I think." Again, swiping ruthlessly at the dampness streaking his face. "I cannot stop shaking."

Dwalin harrumphed, hauling him in tightly and tucking the blanket closer around him. Their clothing was still askew, they were sticky with sweat and seed and the thick, musty smell beneath the blanket was sending flickers of interest back to his groin. Bofur resisted, out of surprise more than anything, Dwalin thought, before he slowly relaxed into Dwalin's arms, burying his damp face into the broad strength of Dwalin's chest.

"Easy, lad," Dwalin murmured. "I have you."

"I think you are mistaking me for Thorin's nephews," Bofur chuckled, though it was broken with a low sob.

"No," Dwalin sighed, "Well do I know who you are." He held Bofur until his trembling eased, his breathing slowed and finally, he slept as well, still curled up against Dwalin's side. With a care, Dwalin smoothed a hand down his hair, taking in the silky, tangled mass of it. Strange, that Bofur would hide such a treasure beneath that hat of his and then Dwalin snorted inwardly at his own fancy. Perhaps he'd taken in a hint of that pollen as well. 

Close by, Bilbo slept, though his light snores were no match to Bombur's, still audible as far as they were from camp. Thorin, Dwalin knew, was as awake as he, and likely they could return to camp now, lugging these two into their bedrolls and take in some sleep. 

Neither of them moved; instead they lay awake through the night, keeping silent watch over the ones sleeping in their arms. 

-finis-


End file.
